


Caught in the roots

by Arabwel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Asshole Chris Argent, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Episode: s03e08 Visionary, Gun Kink, Implied/Referenced Incest, Interrogation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Peter sucking on Chris's weapon, Rape, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, Young Derek Hale, Young Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/pseuds/Arabwel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter stills when he can hear the deliberate scrape of a boot on the packed earth. </p><p>He holds his breath, acutely conscious of Derek trembling against him as the moment stretches on before the hunter speaks. </p><p>“You have ten seconds to show yourself, wolf, or I’ll call them back and drag you out by the scruff.” </p><p>****</p><p>Or, Chris catches young Peter in the cellar beneath the Nemeton and bad things happen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the roots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Claire! :D   
>    
> **
> 
> Much thanks to all my betas! 
> 
> If you think I need to add something else, please let me know

Peter tries to hold his breath even as the hunters climb up. He can hear them talking, hear the younger one say he'll double back to the south if the others continue on the tracks to the east. He breathes a sigh of relief. Beside him, Derek shudders and he pulls the teenager closer, lets him scent. They made it. They just have to wait until all the hunters are gone and—

Peter stills when he can hear the deliberate scrape of a boot on the packed earth. 

He holds his breath, acutely conscious of Derek trembling against him as the moment stretches on before the hunter speaks. 

“You have ten seconds to show yourself, wolf, or I’ll call them back and drag you out by the scruff.” 

There is no lie in the steady voice, the hunter's heartbeat and scent both steady and calm. Peter closes his eyes for a second, weighing his chances. If only he can keep Derek safe…

He pushes Derek deeper into the alcove, into the roots, shaking his head frantically when the kid tries to speak. “I’m here,” He calls out, looking Derek in the eye. _Stay—hide_ , he mouths as he straightens up, makes a deliberate noise. “I’m coming out.”

As he stands up and turns to face the hunter, Peter can finally see him clearly even in the low light. There is a steel to his features that matches his voice, a gruff demeanor and eyes so blue for a moment Peter thinks they’re wolf eyes—a bright blue for death and murder. 

But as he sees the hunter he is seen in return, and the slow, dark smile spreading on the man’s face does not bode well. Neither do the words accompanying it. “Well, well. You’re a pretty one.” 

And Peter knows the tone should make his skin crawl, should appall him the same way the eyes raking over him should; but he can’t fight back the blush, the frisson of heat in his spine as the man licks his lips with deliberate slowness, the pink tip of his tongue an egregious softness against chapped skin. 

Inexorably, Peter’s eyes are drawn to the gun the hunter is holding, to the black metal that’s held in a confident grip that has Peter’s mouth go dry, his heart hammer in his throat.

“Don’t worry, pup, I am not going to kill you.” The man’s voice is low and full of dark amusement. Even so, it shouldn’t make Peter shiver, shouldn’t make him flush, color rising high on his cheeks. His heart is hammering in his throat and it’s for all the wrong reasons. It should be fear, fear of death, fear for Derek—oh god, _Derek_ —and not because the hunter is raking his eyes up and down Peter’s body in a way that has him feeling naked, has him feel exposed more than anything else. 

“T-Then let me go,” he manages to say, fighting to keep his eyes from flicking to where Derek is still curled behind the tangled roots. “Please.” He can double back for Derek, lead them away, get Talia—

“Now why would I do that?” 

“I haven’t done anything!” And it’s true, he hasn’t, he was only looking for Derek in the woods—and his eyes are gold not blue, proof that he isn’t a killer, a murderer; the fear and adrenaline crack through his control and he knows his eyes flash against his will. 

In an instant he realizes it’s a mistake, he sees the hunter’s arm move and he tries to move, tires to dodge the poison bullet—

Peter is fast, inhumanly fast, but the hunter is older and experienced. There’s an arm blocking Peter’s way, the hunter using his own momentum to yank him around so fast Peter gets dizzy for a moment before he’s slammed against the coiling roots, sending up a cloud of dust. 

The cry freezes in his throat when he hears the click of a safety and the cold hard metal of the gun barrel presses down on the side of his head, almost gentle. 

“Now, you are going to do something for me.” 

***

The wolf’s breath hitches and Chris digs the gun in a little deeper, almost hard enough to bruise. With a human he wouldn’t, wouldn’t let them know the precise location of his weapon but what do wolves understand of firearms? 

The beta they nailed in the woods had blue eyes even before he’d killed Jake and Rory; Chris is the one who gets to tell Rory’s pregnant wife her husband is not coming home tonight, and he is going to make absolutely certain he’s getting to the bottom of this, getting all the wolves responsible for the bodies over in Oxnard. So if it means roughing up the pretty little bitch he’s got his hands on, well… at least he’s gonna let the boy go once he’s done. 

The boy, young man really, might even be old enough to drink in human years, not as young as he’d first thought, blinks away big fat tears, staining his flushed cheeks. From where Chris’ hand is pressed against the wolf’s neck he can feel how the wolf’s heart is hammering, his pulse rapid. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the wolf _liked_ it. 

Chris is no wolf, but his senses have been honed over two decades of hunting; he knows the stench of a frightened animal intimately, and that’s not all he can smell on the boy who’s gone terribly still, tiny hitched breaths closer to sobs. Terrified, yeah, but…

“This doesn’t have to hurt, kid,” he says, voice full of dark amusement as he slowly moves the gun in what is almost a parody of a caress. “If you’re good, you might even like it.”  
And oh yeah, that little gasp, the way the wolf’s body arches minutely, as if he’s fighting the urge to present—Chris knows the signs. Getting that information out of the kid just became a much more pleasant prospect. 

“Tell me where the rest of them are.” 

***

The hunter’s voice is a deep, dark purr so close to his ear he can almost feel the warm puff of air. Peter shivers, squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t, he can’t let the man know where Derek is, can’t lead him to pack, he can’t—

The gun digs deeper into his skin and he whines, fuck, he _whines_ , only to have the hunter lean closer and press against his back, pinning him down more firmly with his hard body. 

“Go on, struggle. It won’t do you any good. Just tell me what I want to know.” 

And Peter knows it’s true; he’s stronger, faster, but the absolute confidence in the hunter’s voice, the slowly warming metal against his temple speak for themselves. He’s not getting out of this, he’s not saving Derek by brute force. 

He takes a deep breath, conscious of the feel of the hunter’s body against his. “I don’t know anything,” he says, trying to project the confidence he’s not feeling in his words. 

The hand pressed against his neck squeezes. “Try again, kid.” 

Peter licks his lips, his mouth impossibly dry. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he thinks he can feel his pulse juddering against the hunter’s hand, against the calloused fingers pressing into his skin almost hard enough to bruise. 

“I don’t!” 

The hunter laughs, dark and low. “I’m starting to think you _want_ me to persuade you, kid.“

Peter can feel the flush on his cheeks, can feel the blood rushing through his veins at the words. “No! I don’t, let me go, please, let me go—”

His pleading falls into deaf ears. There’s a hand hand around his throat, around his _pulse_ and he belatedly realizes the hunter might not be able to _hear_ his heartbeat, but he can _feel_ the fact that Peter is lying—That he’s gotten—

That Peter’s gotten hard during their struggle. That his dick is straining against the denim of his jeans, that the fear and adrenaline and gut-wrenching terror are not enough to drown the surge of arousal from being manhandled, of being pinned so close with such heady competence, the fact that his flight or fight response has gone completely wrong. 

The lies spilling from Peter’s lips are as much for his own benefit as they are for the hunter, the shame churning deep in his belly, but the hunter _knows._

One more squeeze and the hand on his neck slowly starts to trail down his back and Peter bites his lip to keep from shivering, from whining. 

Peter’s breath hitches when the hunter’s hand stops, right at his waistband, resting heavily on his hip for a long moment before the strong fingers curl into the belt and tug him snug against the hunter, hands scrabbling against the dusty wall. 

The gun drags down his cheek, barely warmed by the contact with his skin until it’s resting at the corner of his mouth, close enough that Peter’s panting breaths are filled with the taste of gunpowder and steel, the bitter poison of wolfsbane almost an aftertaste. 

“Open up, pup.” 

**

Chris is only about sixty percent certain the kid is into it, but he’s faced worse odds before. Fear and adrenaline can mimic desire, but when those luscious cocksucking lips fall open enough to accommodate the barrel of his Desert Eagle, Chris knows he’s onto something here. 

“Good boy.” He grins when he feels the full-body shudder that courses through the wolf at his words. 

The angle means the boy has to crane his neck, has to arch his back to take the gun in his mouth and it's’ really working for Chris, having that plush little ass pressing into his groin and giving him room to maneuver his free hand, to shift his weight so he’s got the wolf secure. 

He grins, slow and dangerous when his hand encounters a bulge under the denim and the wolf whimpers around the barrel.

“Knew you liked it,” he says almost conversationally as he starts to slowly move the gun, pumping it in and out of the wolf’s hot mouth. It gleams wetly in the low light, and Chris thinks he can see a hint of tears gathering at the corners of those too-blue eyes. Chris would fucking love to have those lips around his dick, to see that thick throat bulge with his cock but he’s not an idiot; he’s not letting a werewolf’s teeth anywhere near his crotch or femoral artery, even at gunpoint. 

The stifled noise the wolf makes could almost be a _please_ and Chris can feel him twitching against the back of his hand as he begins to roughly tug open the belt and the fly. 

“Are you ready to tell me what I want to know or do you want to suck on this a little more?" He leans closer, nudges the gun a little deeper, feels the kid gagging before he pulls it back, the thin line of spit trailing behind. 

He lowers his voice, letting compassion he doesn’t really feel bleed into his voice. “I saw your eyes, kid. I know you didn’t do it, but there’s three dead girls in Oxnard and I want to know where. His. Friends Are.” He punctuates each word with a nudge of the gun against the wolf’s slack lips. 

The wolf looks up at him, eyes wide and wet but even in the low light it’s clear there’s more black and blue in them, pupils blown wide with adrenaline and arousal. There’s a look of honest confusion there, too—like the wolf has no idea what he’s talking about. 

Chris thinks, it’s possible. There’s a local pack, a family one, and Gerard’s negotiations might draw more into the area. But he has to make sure. 

He yanks at the kid’s jeans and a button comes off with an audible ping when it hits the wood. It’s short work to have them all undone, to ruthlessly work his hand inside to find out the fabric of his briefs is already soaked through with precome. He cups his hand and enjoys the way the wolf shudders against him, mouth opening and tiny wordless gasps escaping as he fights to hold still, not to react when Chris squeezes him slowly, feeling him grow thicker, heavier under his touch. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he muses as he presses the gun against the kid’s plump lower lip, just rests it there, doesn't push. “Like a girl.”

And _oh_ , that gets a reaction. There’s another shudder, a high, keening noise and the wolf arches his back again, moving between Chris’ hand and his hips, rubbing himself against Chris’ denim-covered dick even as the move means more of Chris’ gun slides into his mouth without any resistance.

“Looks like I caught myself a real bitch in heat.” Chris chuckles darkly. He moves his hand and waits for the whine, waits for the wolf's eyes fluttering shut before he grabs the kid’s belt again and starts tugging the jeans and underwear down to bare his plump ass. 

Chris would love to mark it up, bite until bruises bloom only to recede in moments just so he could do it again and again, would love to lick the kid open till he cries and begs for his dick, but he knows this is not the time nor the place. He doesn’t hold himself back from slapping one pale cheek hard, leaving behind a pink handprint that fades far too fast. He does it twice more in quick succession and palms the kid’s ass, feeling the heat of the skin for the first time. Fuck, he can’t wait to be buried in balls deep, breaching the tight little hole his fingers find unerringly. 

The wolf gasps and sobs, but all Chris does is press his gun in deeper. The angle is difficult and he knows he can’t keep this up when he’s fucking the wolf which is a real pity; he makes such a pretty sight like this, would make an even prettier one spitted on both gun and cock. but his partner isn’t here, and as much as he looks forward to telling Vic everything in great detail, he’s gonna have to make do.

“Don't worry, baby, I won’t fuck you dry,” he reassures the kid even as he presses on the furled muscle, gauges just how tight the kid is gonna be, and _fuck,_ the way he flutters around Chris’ fingertip, hot and inviting, it almost makes him a liar. 

Slowly, he pulls his gun from the wolf’s mouth. 

“Please.” The wolf’s voice is hoarse, like he’s been throat-fucked real good, even though all Chris did was tease him a little with the gun, didn’t make him choke on it. 

Part of him wants to use the gun to fuck the wolf, make a space for his cock in that tight ass but he knows that’s too dangerous; even now, he’s aware of the fact that for all his mewling and begging, the kid is still a werewolf. Stronger, faster, a monster wearing human skin. 

Instead he steps back and aims his gun at the back of the kid’s head. 

**

Peter bites back a whine at the loss of the hunter's warmth against his back, the loss of the hands on his skin. Even the loss of the gun, the corners of his mouth tender and raw from the unyielding metal. He can feel the tingling as they heal but the taste remains, gun oil a thin film on his lips. 

He hears the hunter take a step back but he doesn’t dare to move, not when his knees are shaking and the gun is still pointed at him. 

“Move,” the hunter says, his voice gruff. “Slowly. You’re gonna move your tight little ass over to the stairs.”

Peter’s mouth goes dry. If the hunter takes him away, out there, then maybe he has a chance—

The hammer cocks loudly. “I am not asking you again, wolf.”

Peter swallows hard. “I’m moving,” he croaks, his words sticking to his throat. He pushes away from the mass of roots, dust shaking off and floating in the air as he stumbles across the cellar to where the hunter wants him. 

“Now bend over.” 

Dread wells up inside Peter at the hunter’s dark words; they make everything suddenly so fucking real, that the hunter is going to do it, that he’s gonna get fucked in the ass in this dirty hole by a killer who would shoot him without a moment’s hesitation. His breath catches in his throat and he wants to _run,_ the frantic beat of his heart thundering in his ears as the oppressive air in the cellar fills his lungs. It’s like he can’t fucking breathe, all he can smell is dust and fear and arousal, both his own and the hunter’s. 

Peter bites back a hiss as his palms scrape against the stone, the scent of blood hitting his nose as he tries to brace himself. What little light is coming down through the cellar door is accompanied by a cold breeze, chilling him from the base of his spine down and making him feel more exposed than he’s ever been.

The hunter’s boot scrapes against the dirt and he knows it’s deliberate, knows it’s meant to unnerve him; he can barely hear it over the sound of his own heartbeat, over the blood rushing through his ears and flushing his skin. 

Peter can’t help it, he cranes his neck and tries to look at the hunter over his shoulder. The first thing he sees is the gun still pointed at him, the barrel gleaming with his own saliva. 

He can’t look away, transfixed by the weapon aimed at him; all he can do is watch and shiver in fearful anticipation as the hunter digs into the pocket of his jeans and pulls up a plastic wrapper. He rips it open one-handed with practised ease, heedless of the fact that the condom tumbles out and onto the dusty floor as he advances on Peter. 

Something must show on his face since the hunter smirks and rakes his eyes over Peter’s prostrate form, eyes lingering on the bare skin of his ass. “Yeah, baby, I’m gonna fuck you bare. Fill you up with my come, mark you up on the inside so every wolf within a ten mile radius will know you gave it up to me. Know what a bitch you are.” 

The words wrap themselves around Peter like rough velvet, an unwanted caress that sends sparks of desire down his spine. He doesn’t want this, he’s never wanted this, he doesn’t want to get fucked and used by a hunter but he can’t stop the rush of blood into his cock, can’t stop the throbbing ache in his balls and the _need_ for more—

His train of thought is interrupted when the hunter closes the distance between them, lifting the gun almost leisurely so that the barrel brushes against the side of his neck in a mockery of a caress. 

“Eyes front,” the hunter says and Peter complies silently, closing his eyes. 

The sound of the zipper sliding down is too loud in his ears. He can hear the foil rip, hear the slick sounds of the hunter spreading the lube on his dick and Peter can feel every muscle in his body tensing, his body growing taut as a bowstring as he freezes in anticipation. His arms tremble with the strain, and he has to fight to keep from slumping, from letting his face hit the dusty stone. 

The hunter chuckles darkly. “Relax, baby, I told you I’m not gonna fuck you dry.” 

Peter wants to snark— _Excuse me for not finding that much of a reassurance_ —but the words get stuck in his throat and all the sound he makes is a groan, one that turns into a half moan, half sob when the hunter's free hand unerringly finds his hole, slick fingers dipping between his cheeks to press against him. It’s like a direct line to his dick and Peter can feel his cheeks flush, can feel his dick throb between his legs. 

Without a warning, the hunter dips a finger inside and Peter flinches hard, the gun digging painfully into his skin. “ _Please_...” he manages to get past the tightness in his throat. 

He’s not begging for more. _Is not._

***

The kid is already begging and Chris is pretty sure it’s for him to get a move on and fuck him already if the noise he makes when Chris pushes one lube-slick finger into his tight heat  
is anything to go by. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts as he works his finger in and out, quickly judging the wolf ready for two. “Gonna feel so good around my cock, baby. Gonna make you take it all.” 

He twists his fingers and yeah, there it is, that spot that has the wolf yowling when he presses down hard, has tears leaking from the corners of those blue eyes. 

“That’s it, baby, gonna make it so good for you,” Chris croons. “Gonna split you open on my dick.” And fuck, the way the wolf’s hole ripples around his fingers at his words, the little slut is dying to get fucked and Chris is going to give it to him.

Another quick twist of his fingers and he pulls them out, listens to the wolf moan and his dick twitches in anticipation. 

“Just relax and you’re gonna like it,” Chris promises the wolf. “Hell, you’re gonna love it, getting fucked by a hunter.” 

He moves to brace himself, doesn’t miss the way the wolf’s breath hitches when he moves the gun, doesn’t miss how he tenses when Chris presses down hard between his shoulderblades, hard enough to know there’ll be bruises forming and healing under the shirt where the cold metal presses into pale flesh. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than losing his balance if he gets too into it, if the kid gets too into it and tries to buck him off. 

Chris bites back a hiss when he takes hold of his neglected cock; he’s been getting hard ever since he first caught a glimpse of those cock-sucking lips. He presses the head of his dick against the wolf’s fluttering hole and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ it’s so fucking hot he’ll never be used to it. So tight, too—maybe two fingers wasn’t enough.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathes as he sinks in just the tip of his cock, breaches the wolf’s body and draws a high-pitched cry from him. “Here I thought you’re just a little slut, willing to give it up to anyone. But you’re not, are you? Your ass is so tight, so fucking perfect. I don’t think you even had fingers in here before I got my hands on you.”

And _fuck_ , there’s a thought that has Chris snapping his hips forward, burying himself balls deep in the kid’s tight ass.

The wolf arches under him, a high pitched whine escaping him as he tries to thrash in place; Chris is expecting it, fuck, loves the way it makes the wolf’s ass ripple around his dick but it only takes a moment for him to have the wolf pinned back down, have the barrel of his gun tucked under the wolf’s chin. 

“Easy now, baby,” he hisses into the wolf’s ear, and bites the lobe sharply for good measure. “You’re gonna stay still for me, gonna ask me nicely to give my cock to you. You’re gonna beg me to ruin your virgin ass”—and yeah, the deep full body shudder he gets, the pained little hitch in his breath, they tell Chris it’s true—“and you’re going to love every. Single. Moment.” 

He punctuates his words with his hips, short, sharp thrusts eliciting little moans from the wolf that make him think he’s got it, he’s rubbing against the right spot to make this good, to make sure that when he asks the questions the wolf will be ready to answer. This isn’t about getting his dick wet, after all. 

The wolf whines under him and yeah, it’s not all about getting his dick wet, but when he moves the hand gripping the wolf’s hip, stops pinning him down, that plump ass pushes back to him… “That’s it baby, be good to me and I’ll be good to you.” 

It’s a bad angle but he works his hand under the wolf and isn’t surprised to find an erection, hard and leaking in his hand. “Fuck, you’re dripping already. So fucking hot for me, little wolf slut.” 

*** 

Peter sobs when the hunter wraps a hand around his cock. His skin feels three sizes too small and everything tingles, the hunter’s cock steadily thrusting in and out of him a brand of fire leaving trails of pain and pleasure in its wake. 

With every thrust, the hunter is nudging something inside him Peter hadn’t known existed, something that sends a blinding burst of heat down his spine and straight into his dick, makes his teeth rattle, fangs itching to drop, and high whines escape from his throat. 

He knows the hunter wants him to beg, but he won't, he won’t ask for this, won't ask for more no matter how much a part of him wants it harder, wants more. Wants the hunter to fuck him hard and make him take it, something he’s never thought he could want. But he does. 

“What was that?” the hunter asks deceptively softly as his thumb swipes over the sensitive head of Peter’s cock, spreading sticky precome in its wake. “I didn’t hear you, wolf.”

Peter doesn't want to speak, doesn’t want to say anything, make any kind of a noise but he can’t help it, he whimpers when the hunter stills, when the hand around his dick stops moving and just holds him, not giving him anything. Leaving him hanging. 

Peter licks his lips, tastes the gun oil and dust. He tries to swallow, tries to get air, tries to get moisture past the lump in his throat, only to have the barrel of the gun rub hard against his adam’s apple. It’s too much and not enough. 

“Please,” he croaks, voice so low he wonders if the hunter can even hear it with his human ears. 

The hunter laughs and rocks his hips minutely, just enough to ratchet Peter’s desire higher but give him no relief, no friction. “No.” 

Peter gasps, and he can’t help it, he cranes his neck, aided by the press of the gun barrel under his ear and tries to look at the hunter over his shoulder.

Even in the low light the hunter’s eyes are a cold blue full of dark desire. There’s a smile on his face that sends shivers down Peter’s spine, more wolfish than a hunter has any right to be. The hunter licks his lips and Peter can see the gleam of white in the dark. 

“Ask me nicely.” 

The words, the tone should not go straight into Peter’s dick, shouldn’t wrap around him like they do. Another plea is on the tip of his tongue but he’s fighting it, he is, until the hunter nudges the gun and slowly drags it over his cheek with false tenderness. 

Something inside Peter snaps and his body heaves with a great big sob; words start spilling from his lips, pleas for more, for the hunter to _please_ fuck him, give it to him goddammit, just fuck him now—

“—break me open on your cock,” Peter’s words are a wrecked mess, repeating what the hunter told him, what the hunter wants; what _Peter_ wants, and he can’t deny any longer. He can’t take it back and he knows deep inside that this is what needs to happen, that if he lets this happen, he can—

“Yeah, baby, I’m going to give it to you.” The hunter’s voice breaks his train of thought and for a moment everything seems frozen until the hunter rolls his hips, drives into Peter and everything bursts into pleasure. 

Now that the dam is broken Peter can’t stop himself from begging, from crying, for asking for more, every harsh thrust sending sparks down his spine and his cock sliding through the hunter’s loose grasp. It’s not like anything he’s felt before, everything winding up inside him pushing him closer and closer to the edge with each punishing thrust. 

“Please…”

*** 

The kid is getting closer—Chris has no doubt he could pull his hand away and make the little slut come on his cock alone, virgin or not; all it’s gonna take is a few more thrusts and he’s gonna feel that hot ass clench down on him even tighter. Yeah, he’s a bastard, but he’s still not gonna leave the kid hanging… for that long. The kid lets out a particularly high whine and that’s when Chris goes still, hips pulling back and hand wrapping around the base of the kid’s swollen dick, holding him at bay. 

The wailing noise goes straight into Chris’ cock, makes him wanna hunch his hips forward and just fucking drive into the kid till he’s spilling inside, till he’s filling the wolf up with his seed but he knows he can’t do it, knows he’s gotta at least try to make sure the kid really doesn’t know anything. He briefly wishes Vic was there—she was always better at asking the questions first. That’s why she’s the boss. 

“Now, baby, I want you to think very hard and tell me, where are the wolves from Oxnard.” He licks his lips as he slowly runs the barrel of his gun over the kid’s cheek, over the red indent from where it was pressed down hard is already healing. He has to fight the urge to make the wolf suck on it again to see those full lips wrapped around him again. But the kid can’t talk if he’s got his mouth full now, can he? 

“I don’t, don’t know!” The answer is immediate, the words broken and breathy as the kid squirms, tries to not to fuck himself back on Chris’ cock. “I swear, I don’t fucking know!” 

Chris tightens his grip on the wolf’s leaking dick, teases his thumb along the sensitive underside. “Are you telling me the truth, baby?” 

The wolf shudders, ass clenching around Chris. “Yes! Damn you, yes, just— Fuck, goddammit, fuck me, fucking— _please_! Need to, to— Fuck, please, make me come—” 

And Chris is inclined to believe it, can almost taste the kid’s desperation in the air, the fear and lust that he’s wrapped the wolf in. He thinks Vic would press for more but, fuck, she’s not here, and she’s not the one buried to the hilt in a squirming, wailing little slut who’s begging for his cock, begging to be filled with his come, to be marked up on the inside by a hunter, begging for release. 

Chris drives his hips forward and the wolf arches his back and moans, head thrown back and Chris can see the tears, see that pretty face all twisted up, the way those plush lips part and— Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , the wolf’s fucking lapping his tongue over the tip of Chris’ gun.

“That what you want?” His voice is a low growl.

He shifts his position, uncaring of the whine the wolf lets out when Chris lets go of him, when Chris moves his hand up to cradle the wolf’s jaw instead of his cock. 

“So this is how it’ll be, baby. You’re gonna come from my cock in your ass and my gun in your mouth, or you won’t get to come at all.”

The wolf’s protests are stifled by the gun sliding into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. Chris slides his hand down, wraps it around the wolf’s throat and swiftly pulls him up, changing the position. He’s still got enough leverage to plow into the wolf, but like this Chris can hold him in place, trap him between cock and gun. His wrist is gonna hurt like a bitch after but he’s not gonna risk changing his grip, likes the way the barrel tugs on the side of the kid’s mouth. 

The angle seems to work for the wolf; when Chris moves his hips, thrusts in deep, the wolf moans around the barrel, tries to move back the best he’s able as he’s trapped between the platform and Chris’ body, back arching beautifully. 

“That’s it, push that ass back, fuck yourself on my cock,” Chris murmurs into the wolf’s ear, breath hot and wet, drawing out a shiver. “Keep your hands off your dick.” 

The wolf complies; Chris can see the hint of claws curling against the dusty stone as they try to brace, to keep from moving as Chris starts to slowly thrust in earnest, drawing more noise from the wolf. All the muffled gasps and moans are almost enough to drown the slap of skin on skin, the slick of spit on metal. 

The wolf is sucking on the barrel in earnest, cheeks hollowing out and eyes glassy and Chris is helpless to resist the urge to _take_ , to fuck the wolf hard and fast without mercy. Heat is building up along his spine, curling at the pit of his belly with every thrust, with every drag of his cock in the velvet heat of the wolf, clinging on his dick every time he pulls out like it doesn’t want to let go. 

He can feel his balls tighten, feel how close he’s getting. It’s not gonna take much more before he's gonna come and he wants the wolf to feel it, wants the wolf know— “ _Who fucking owns your ass—_ ”

He jams the gun deeper in the wolf’s mouth, deep enough for the wolf to choke on it, can feel the thick throat bulging under his hand as the wolf fights for air and he _squeezes_. The wolf chokes on it, chokes on a howl, back arching as his entire body convulses, ass clenching tight around Chris’ cock as the wolf comes hard, the acrid smell of come filling the air as spurts of white hit the stones. 

Chris pulls his weapon free to hear the wolf’s gasp for air and it’s that one last broken _please_ that sends him over the edge, that has fire shooting down his spine as his cock flexes inside the wolf, flooding him with come, filling him up, marking him up, just as Chris’ teeth sink into the pale flesh of his neck hard enough to draw blood. 

*****

Everything is hazy; Peter feels like his bones are molten lead and yet like he’s floating at the same time, his breath coming in short little pants through his ruined throat. 

Above him, the hunter is pulling away, his cock slipping out of Peter with a slick squelch that has him shivering at the sudden chill mixing with the rush of come leaking from his hole. 

The hunter laughs and his hand comes down on Peter’s ass, stinging sharply; Peter yelps and tightes up instinctively, tries to hold it back. 

“That’s it, bitch, keep that come in you.” The hunter’s voice is low and even and Peter can hear his heartbeat is steady, barely elevated, like it was nothing for him to fuck Peter and leave him completely spent and sprawling in the dirt. His breath hitches in his throat at the idea, a vicious, dark twist collecting at the pit of his stomach. 

“Was it, was it good for you too?” he forces past his burning throat, the words barely above a whisper. He wants to say something more, something about fucking and beasts and old men who can’t get it up but before he can say anything else, the click of the hammer being pulled back has him silent, the fear welling up again. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, wolf.” The hunter sneers as he moves to get past Peter, the gun aimed at his head even as he starts to ascend the rickety stairs, eyes taking in Peter’s limp form and the cellar as a whole. Peter’s eyes trail him, taking in the stains on the man’s jeans and thinks viciously that he’s gonna have to explain those to someone. 

“Gonna run home to your wife? Can’t push around one of your _matriarchs_ so you just have to fuck wolves at gunpoint.” 

The hunter’s eyes grow dark and for a moment Peter thinks this is it, his come-dumb tongue is gonna finish him, he’s gonna get shot in the head in this hole in the ground and found like this by—

“If I was you, I’d worry about what your little friend thinks about you after you begged for hunter cock.”

Oh god. 

Derek. 

*** 

Derek gasps at the hunter’s words and belatedly realizes, his eyes must be gleaming gold in the darkness. He closes his eyes but it’s too late, the hunter knows he’s here, knows he watched… Watched what happened to Peter. 

That Derek watched his uncle getting fucked, that he stared at the way Peter's lips stretched around the metal of the gun, slick and obscene. 

That he stared at how Peter’s back arched, how his neck bulged from the the strain of holding in place as the hiunter fucked him. 

That Derek _liked_ it. 

Derek— That Derek’s got both hands pressed against the front of his jeans, stomach churning with emotion, that he’s gasping for breath trying to not to come, trying not to be affected by the sights and sounds. It’s so wrong, Peter is his uncle and the man is a hunter. 

But Derek can’t help it. It’s not the hunter who should be driving into Peter, drawing out those noises, spilling his come deep inside Peter’s body. 

When the hunter disappears from sight Derek slowly stands up and goes to Peter.


End file.
